Autumn
by Miserivanity
Summary: The forest is changing at East High; storms brew, leaves shed, and vicious Nature has no remorse. SLASH TRYAN TROY/RYAN
1. Something Rotten

**Autumn**

**Chapter 1**

**In which** there is something rotten in the undergrowth.

"Something's rotten with this world," she says, looking over her balcony like she'd never done before. It is high, higher than she has ever thought, and she wonders how Troy could have clambered his way up every time; without thought, without hesitation, so utterly sure that despite breaking branches or snapping bones that it was the right thing to do. It chills her to think how that's gone from him now. There's no more Romeo left inside Troy Bolton.

Taylor throws her tabloid away (not hers nor Gabriella's, but something Chad bought her with the vague idea that girls read them) and sits up to attention immediately. "You mean like the way Troy treated you?" There is a hopeful tone in her voice – she's been waiting for the post-relationship-friend-comfort cue for a week now, and has a speech prepared (and revised) on all the things wrong with ex-Saint Troy. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Gabby-"

"I'm okay. Really."

And so, with an exasperated sigh, Taylor returns to her magazine with her usual efficiency and a mutter of "Why do these people even get married?" Gabriella, mind drifting, thinks of a different and long gone conversation.

"_Are you breaking up with me, Troy Bolton?"_

"_I am," Troy had said to her, "but I don't know who that is."_

* * *

His best friend has died, and Chad (with a sick twist of guilt) is only realising now. True, he has never been one for the 'touchy feely' stuff, but in hindsight he knows he really should have noticed earlier that something was up.

They were temporarily without a coach for now, so one of the Maths teachers or whoever the guy was looked after them instead. Thirty minutes of practice was enough for the coach-but-not-coach to swap the team's captaincy around – Chad, now, was the captain of the Wildcats. He'd protested, like any good friend would.

"No," Troy had said, grabbing his shoulder, "he's right, man. You're the best one for the job." And then he calmly handed the ball over. "It's better for the team. Congrats." There was no awkward silence, no shifting from foot to foot, not even the laughing-it-off jokes – Troy didn't need to pretend he didn't care.

He just really didn't.

Troy Bolton, as they knew him, is dead. It must be all that drama stuff rubbing off on him; anything anybody does in musicals seems to be singing and dancing and smiling to the audience when there isn't any reason to. And underneath, Troy had a quiet death.

So unlike his old man.

* * *

Ryan wakes from a long jetlag-induced sleep to find rain. This doesn't please him, because it feels like he's already had a whole year full of winter and written on the sky was the message _here's some more_. He yawns his way through the usual routine and downs his waffles listening to Sharpay; her breakfast gossip isn't directed at him, which is a pleasant change, but at some girl on the phone. Probably new, because he would remember a girl with a name like Tiara.

It wasn't until halfway to school when he really pays attention to something, a break in the monotony. He presses his nose against the window, craning his head back to try peering through the thick rain. Sharpay does a little jump in her seat. "Did I-"

"No, not that." Even without mystical twin telepathy he can tell she was worried about running something over. Again. "It's like, I thought I saw somebody walking back there."

"In this rain? Doubt it. They'd have to swim."

"Not everybody is the Wicked Witch of the West. But I could have sworn."

"Whatever." She stops the car, and when she opens the door there was a neatly dressed blond girl there with an umbrella and extras hooked to her arm – there is a bag that smells suspiciously like soy milk latte. "Oh, Tiara, that is so _sweet_. Look, Ry, she even brought one for you!"

Ryan thanks her a little reluctantly. One of the Evans mottos (out of many, since they keep adding to the list) is to believe that nice people are one of two things – stupid, or dangerous. He'll have to watch her.

They were three steps into the building when they were mobbed. Ryan, busy spying the efficiency with which Tiara put away the wet umbrellas in an empty locker, didn't see them coming.

The wild assortment of basketballers and scientists marches them to the classroom, sits them down, and then congregates in an intimidating sort of circle around them. Ryan is surprised to find the power couple right now is Taylor and Big Hair (also known to him as what's-his-name), who looks at each other and starts to talk in that annoying couple way where they co-ordinate their speeches.

Big Hair starts first. "Okay, so we know that you've been off to Austria-"

"-Australia," Tiara chirps in, like she was there.

Taylor frowns at them. "Isn't it cold there right now?"

"Our parents like skiing."

"But Australia's beaches-"

"Our parents _love_ skiing."

"Anyway," Big Hair goes on, obviously without a clue as to where Australia might be, "since you've been gone, I thought I'd fill you in on what's been going on." At this point Sharpay's foot nudge his, which is the signal for them to dramatically exchange a look, and when they do he can see everybody is impressed about the twin thing.

"It's about Coach Bolton."

"He's had an accident."

Sharpay pinches his knee, but he is too distracted digesting the information so her exaggerated gasp goes off solo. "You don't mean – is he really – oh my God-"

A printed sheet is slapped onto the table. Big Hair leans back, and Ryan can guess this particular idea wasn't one of his, proven by the way Taylor steps forward with her hands on her hips. "Here is a list of words, phrases and events that you must never mention in Troy's earshot under any circumstances. We'll update this fortnightly as necessary, but for now you should focus on memorising the ones in the _top risk_ category, here…"

The English accent cuts in again. "Now really, if you're saying that Sharpay-" she gives a small can-I-call-you-that look and is returned with a small nod, "-can't act accordingly sympathetic without your _manual_, then I'm afraid you're seriously mistaken."

He doesn't agree in those exact words, but the list seems rather extreme.

"Dude," Tiara shudders when Big Hair calls her that, "two days ago, Geography class. Somebody mentions Lincoln National Forest, _bam._"

Ryan has to ask. "What?"

"He drops everything and leaves. Nobody sees him again for the rest of the day and Gabby had to go find him."

For the first time, Ryan is aware of Gabriella as part of the circle, hovering near the edge. He wants to know how she feels about all of this supposed Troy-madness, but the sullen silence she broods in is enough of an indication.

"I don't get it," says Sharpay.

Big Hair shakes his head (and hair with it, Ryan notices). "Coach took him camping there a few times when he was young. Just learn the list, yeah?"

"I'll do it. For Troy," she says in a tone of great sacrifice, and Tiara takes the page for her.

Ryan rises to leave, but Taylor tugs him back. "We'll get a page for you too, just wait a moment."

"Nah," He shakes his head, "if I do talk to Troy – and we all know how often that happens – I'll just blab on about the weather or something. I don't need it, really."

Taylor scans the list. "As long as it's not _hailing_ or _flooding_."

"Right." Beginning to find this whole thing overblown – and trust Troy Bolton to be the person to make a storm – Ryan moves for the exit but is forced to stop. And stare. And blink. "Troy."

"Hey, buddy," Big Hair calls out from the other side of the room.

Troy's face breaks into a grin and gives a thumbs up. "Hey, man. And hey, Ryan. Haven't seen you for a while. Where've you been?" He raises one hand to scratch at his hair and a small pool forms from what drips off of those few strands alone.

"You…walked here? In the rain?" Ryan remembers the first interesting thing of the day (is somewhat disappointed it has to be megastar Bolton), the figure in the mist.

"Yeah, my Mum had to go to work early."

"But what happened to your-" he has to pause before _truck_ because Big Hair is making furious STOP motions with his arms behind Troy "-clothes? Is that colour running? It might stain your shorts!"

"Looks fine to me." There is a silence. Ryan can feel Sharpay tensing up across the room at the same time – Bolton's little clique had felt it subconsciously, but the Evans are actors. They're fluent in the unspoken language, and every muscle on Troy Bolton's body right now is telling them he's on stage and performing. Acting out the part, playing himself.

"So," Ryan says after a while, trying to ignore the way Troy's puddle is coming dangerously close to his shoes, "you noticed it's raining?"


	2. Hook, Line & Sinker

weaksauce - Thanks! I wrote this out of a sudden awareness that a) there isn't enough Tryan on the internet, and b) too much of it is boy-meets-boy-and-happily-ever-after (which is good sometimes, of course, but still).  
Rawr- exclamation point - Thanks! Um, I live in Australia so there's actually no standard in my area, far as I know...people here bounce between American and British and Whatever English.  
zacefron321 - Yup!  
sakoralee - Coolio, thanks. =D

* * *

**Autumn**

**Chapter 2**

**In which** a fish is quickly hooked.

When Ryan opened his milk, he was annoyed at Troy Bolton.

By the time he empties the carton, he would be _spectacularly _annoyed at Troy Bolton.

And the word _spectacular_ always means its fullest extent for Ryan – this means fireworks, sparklers, fog machines, molten glass displays, a massive chocolate fountain and forty-two backup dancers _at least_. Spectacular. For some reason, rage always feels to him like one of Sharpay's numbers.

* * *

Ryan shakes his milk carton twice, pulls the mouth open delicately and slips a straw inside. Sharpay frowns at him across the table, his annoyance obvious to her – usually he shakes the carton at least three times. But her attention is always carefully spent, and today it is almost fully invested in Troy Bolton Angst Incorporated (and apparently Unlimited); seeing as her twin brother isn't doing anything remarkably urgent like bleeding, she turns her gaze back.

"I think he's- oh, he's definitely eating less," she sighs as Troy finishes a sandwich in two bites, "I can tell he's hurting. We've always had a connection." Beside her, Tiara dutifully writes this down in what looks suspiciously like Sharpay's Journal, which in the Evans household merits its own capital letter and steel safe. If the 'assistant' is being allowed to write in it, things are much worse than Ryan had suspected.

Meanwhile, everybody watches Troy (now dried) crack open his milk (without shaking!) and pour it down his throat. Drips of the flavoured beverage spill from the edges of his lips and dribble onto his shirt and Ryan suddenly feels sick because _urgh _that has to be_ sticky _and make_ stains _and_ urgh_. Troy's appetite is fine, and judging by the way he shoots his empty carton across two tables and into the bin without standing, so is his basketball.

Ryan got a B for Biology last period. Golden Boy (may his sweaty shorts be encrusted with jewels, yadda yadda) had received an A. His grades are fine, probably thanks to Gabriella.

So why exactly is everybody so upset about Troy Bolton? Nobody has explained to him exactly which parts of the guy's life is so desperately tragic. And as Ryan watches his sister join the Mob to all babysit him in the gym, he doubts if anybody even knows.

* * *

There is a brief moment of surprise when Gabriella replaces Sharpay on the seat beside him, and then a long stretch of torment when he realises she is here to discuss The Bolton Affair. "I can't bear to see him all the time," she tells him, and Ryan nods vigorously in agreement, "it's just too much…to think that all he is to us is just, _gone_, you know?" His head changes direction. "Well, it's sort of like chemistry. There's two sides to the equation. There's Old Troy on one side and New Troy on the other, and Conservation of Matter means that all the elements and parts are still there, but they're…changed. They're different."

The analogy is another surprise, though he should have seen it coming. "I don't see people as chemicals, they're too complicated for that." Ryan chews on the straw, thinking, and Gabriella tweaks his cap with a small bemused look. "To me they're mostly music. But sometimes they're not even that. Sometimes people are just made of the directions they want to go; they're a collection of motions and movements."

The girls smiles, and he blushes because he's been very obvious. "You're talking about dance steps, aren't you."

"No," he decides, embarrassed enough to hurry the conversation to its finish, "we're both wrong. People are just people."

"So nobody's a specialist." Gabriella folds her hands together. Ryan figures she's been crying earlier, or she'd be doing it now. "But he's not going anywhere by brooding by himself, you know. I think he really needs someone to talk to, stat, before he descends into something really bad."

Like perfect grades and sportsmanship?

The idea sounds like a prescription to him, and he's willing to bet there aren't many people in the school who use the word _stat_. "That's Taylor's idea, isn't it."

"Yeah. How'd you know?" He shrugs. People always underestimate him in two ways – firstly, that Sharpay is the only manipulator in the family; and secondly, that being a bitch doesn't take effort and careful observation.

"Maybe you should talk to Troy himself about this," Ryan suggests. _Now_, he almost adds, keen to finish his milk in peace.

"I have! He just keeps apologising, and saying that he feels fine."

"Then bloody believe him."

Gabriella opens her mouth to respond, thinks it over in her head, and registers something out of key. "Wait, sorry?"

"I said: Then, Gabby, don't leave him."

The unease fades from her face. "Oh. Well, he says he doesn't want that right now, so I don't want to crowd him." Her brow crinkles. "Do you think I should try? If you were him," Ryan chokes on his straw, "would you want your girlfriend to help you? Or would your masculinity reject the idea of a girl seeing you vulnerable?"

"I'm not sure," he responds drily to the 'girlfriend' hypothetical. Gabriella is obviously smart, and sometimes even wise, but she isn't very clever.

"I think he needs somebody unfamiliar. It helped him last time, when he didn't know me. Maybe it's all these preconceptions his friends have on him." Or delusions of grandeur. "We need somebody new. Somebody he hasn't been so close with." She puts her hand on his arm and he suddenly has a sinking feeling.

"W-well," he stammers, struggling with an excuse, "I don't know…um, I haven't really talked that much to Troy before-" He stops when he realises his fatal mistake, that his excuse is exactly when she wants to hear.

The girl gives him a tight hug. "Oh, I am _so_ glad. Thank you _so_ much, Ryan. You are always _so_ nice." She wanders off to the gym, her mission completed, and Ryan is _so_ not amused. The fact the carton is now empty adds to the irritation.

Somewhere inside his rage, a dancer slips into a burning chocolate fountain and the screams harmonise with his sister.


End file.
